Your Scales and Your Arpeggios
by ocean-view-luffy
Summary: John tries to adjust to life post-reichenbach, which is hard considering Mycroft knows nothing of the violin! Yet as he plays better, John gets a sneaky suspicion that Sherlock is with him. Read and review please!
1. Rosin and Bedsheets

_Your scales and your arpeggios_

It had been quite some time since Sherlock had plummeted from the hospital roof, and despite the constant nightmares John endured, life goes on. 221B Baker Street was changing. John noticed so about several months ago when he unlocked his door to a terrible screeching sound. Something that sounded like a velociraptor breeding with a deflating balloon. Upon rushing to Sherlock's old room he had found Mycroft strumming the bow over a violin.

"Really."

", if you don't mind, I'm paying homage to my brother."

"Yeah, I would turn in my grave if I heard that. Besides, you weren't close...the two of you. What good is it paying homage to him now." John spat bitterly. Mycroft lowered the instrument off his shoulder, eyes downcast. "I understand that Sherlock and I were a bit...hostile...to each other. But I still loved him. He was my brother." he struggled to find the words. "My..baby brother..." John inhaled deeply.

The room still smelled of Sherlock. Not that Sherlock smelled bad, he just had a certain musk about him. Something about the smell of tea, bedsheets, rosin, and various chemicals made the room uniquely his. Since his suicide John had found himself in Sherlock's room many times to inhale the scent he tried so hard to preserve. It may have seemed creepy, but it helped him get through the day knowing he could curl up on Sherlock's old couch, tracing the smiley face shot into the wall. Aware of the uncomfortable silence, Mycroft spoke again. "Well, in any case I have taken it upon myself to learn the violin." "Uh-huh, and just how-exactly- are you learning?" "I'm just sight reading is all." John really knew he shouldn't ask, because both Holmes brothers had this way of making ordinary people out of geniuses. "What are you sight rea-"

Oh.

That's why.

The page was a mess of black ink. It was splattered into runs, 16ths and 32nds, the spray of which ended up in the highest of registers. Sherlock could do it...he'd seen Sherlock play it. Mycroft, however, could not play twinkle twinkle little star. "You know what, I'm going to shower and make myself some tea. You're welcome to stay, Mycroft, and I would definitely look into buying a beginners book. You know...for reference."

John slid beneath the tightly tucked sheets of his bed and sighed. During the length of his shower Mycroft had disappeared. He had hoped that was the case, because he did not feel like sleeping through that ruckus. A tiny pang of pain rang through his chest. He couldn't sleep when Sherlock played either. When Sherlock performed his private concerts in 221B, John -and sometimes - were the only audience. John would be slumped over in a chair, pretending to doze off, while watching Sherlock pace the room with his violin snug on his shoulder. His long, slender fingers were made perfect to slide across the strings, and the army doctor treasured every time he picked up the darn thing. Though it was never really secret. On a few occasions Sherlock had handed him coffee in the morning and announced the next piece he would be playing, and if John was going to listen he may as well listen to classical music properly...not all hunched over.

'I miss it. I miss him.'

The blond closed his eyes. He felt as if he could still see the ceiling. That same ceiling he sat and stared at after returning from war. It was white, and cold, and nothing like what this place meant to him.

'I should paint the ceiling...or shoot it.' he snorted to himself. The man unbuttoned his night shirt and turned over in his empty bed. It was already 11 p.m. John would normally be up until 2 or 3 in the morning working on a case, but since Sherlock's passing he had taken a job at the hospital. Sleep was more precious now than ever.

Another sigh.

"Goodnight...Sherlock."

And with that the doctor slipped into sleep, hardly noticing the rustling coming from above that white, cold ceiling.

-TBC-


	2. Musk and Shuffling

Your Scales and Your Arpeggios

That saturday morning John woke up to the sound of coming back from the weekend shopping run. Glancing over at the clock on his bedside, the numbers flashed 11:23 am.

"Christ, don't alarm clocks work?" he mumbled, tearing off the sheets.

His morning routine was rushed and unpleasant, and John quickly made his way downstairs. "Good morning, John. Restless night again?" "I'm afraid so, Mrs. Hudson. I look a mess." The landlady smiled and took the kettle off the stove. "I'm sure of it, with all that rustling about last night. You really should stop pacing your room. It only keeps you up." Still in a haze, the blonde quickly poured himself some water and let the tea leaves sit. "Yeah, I'll just stop pacing."

Wait...

"Did you say pacing?" "Yes dear, the creaking kept me up a while." There was a clatter as John dropped his tea cup and sped to Sherlock's old flat. "Oh dear! You've spilled your tea!" Mrs. Hudson called on deaf ears. John had already bounded out of the room, stubbing his toes on chairs, stairs, and walls. 'It can't be! After all this time, that stupid git was alive!' His mind was racing, and his heart pounding. 'Should I hug him or knock him out for all the trouble he's caused!' The journey from downstairs to the room may have only been a minute, but to John it was an eternity of emotions flowering, bursting, and washing away in his chest. Love, anger, sadness, curiosity, joy, they all swelled up inside him as he finally reached the top of the stairs and threw open the door to Sherlock's room.

"SHER-"

No...

Empty.

The room was just as he left it yesterday. Mrs. Hudson ran up behind John. "What is it? Did I leave the lights on?" John's heart sank in his chest. "No, no everything's fine. I just left something in here." The elderly woman exited the room, leaving the doctor to sink onto the couch where Sherlock used to brood. "I'm going mad." John's eyes surveyed the room one more time, only picking up the buts and pieces Mycroft had left behind yesterday- a violin case and a few etude books. But that undeniable scent of Sherlock still hung in the air. It was dense and overpowering, like a perfume sprayed all over every surface of the room. All of a sudden the blonde felt the stifling heat of the perspiration under his thick jumper, and the walls started closing in.

"Air...air..."

John had sped out of the house and had not returned until late afternoon. The incident that morning had left him unsettled, and after a long day of wandering around London, he felt it was safe to return to 221B Baker Street.

He opened the door to the sound of slow strumming. 'I take it Mycroft is back.' He sighed. Mycroft was seated in one of the chairs in Sherlock's room, focused on a piece of sheet music. He stopped as John entered the room. "Oh, John! Welcome home." "Sorry, do you live here now?" "Not at all, I just thought it would be polite." John huffed. "No offense, Mycroft, but your ideas of polite are widely different from that of the general population. For example...kidnapping me to keep an eye on your brother."

"Used to, not anymore."

"Well obviously."

The room went silent. Mycroft coughed. "Well, anyway, I wanted to properly thank you for the advice on beginners books. I found these quite helpful. My tone had already improved." It was true, He didn't sound like a velociballoonraptor anymore. It sounded like he'd been practicing a while.

"Oh, well...good. Good then." John started toward the door. "I'm surprised you found these practice books in all this mess. Thank you for lending them."

"Excuse me?"

"The books you left out on the table for me."

"I-I..." the doctor's mind went blank. He hadn't left any books on the table. As a matter of fact he hadn't looked for anything in that room at all. Those books were on the table that morning, when he ran upstairs. Even more frightening was the fact that complained of shuffling around the night before-and her room is beneath Sherlock's.

"Everything alright, John?"

"F-FINE. I'm fine. I just...I just need something from...my room." He sputtered, nervously stumbling out of the room. He waited until he reached his bed to collapse into a heap of quivering flesh. "Sh...Sherlock."

'He must be ali-I know he's not...I know he's de- alive. dead. alive. dead. He fell. The blood. The books. The shuffling. The musk...' More images flooded his mind. 'Those eyes...'

Calm started to wash over him. Yet he was still unsettled. Things weren't right. As much as he wanted to believe Sherlock was alive, he couldn't bring any logical conclusion to it. He had seen the detective hit the pavement. His hair was matted with ruby red blood. He didn't get to say goodbye.

Or maybe it wasn't goodbye?

There had been shuffling in the room last night. had confirmed it. Those books appeared on the table that morning for Mycroft. That holds some paranormal value. Then again, if Sherlock was alive... why wait this long? It had been months since the tragedy. Why wouldn't he contact him? There was no denying the two had formed a close friendship in their time as flatmates. As machine-like as Sherlock was, he had always come around to tell John he was ok when it mattered. This definitely mattered. He lo- no, no. Its best left unsaid. John never had the chance to tell Sherlock how he really felt. The selfish bastard had hogged up all the goodbyes to himself.

One thing is certain, something odd was happening at 221B Baker St., and John was the closest thing to a consulting detective they had now. With a little monkey-see-monkey-do knowledge, he planned on getting to the bottom of this.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first johnlock fic, and I hope you're all enjoying it. I'm trying my hardest to come up with something decent. This story was actually one of those one shots I had before bedtime, but it seemed to have the potential to be a really good story. I encourage you to read and review so I know how to make the best of this! Thank you :D


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